


my lover’s the sunlight

by doespenguinsisgay



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Domestic, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Offseason Fluff, Summer, husbands being husbands, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 16:42:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18450548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doespenguinsisgay/pseuds/doespenguinsisgay
Summary: The summer always smoothes out at the turn of July, when he makes the drive down to Minnesota. The trip itself is always a beautiful one, flying down the highway with the windows down, crossing the border under clear blue skies soundtracked to the soft country stations he finds as he drives.(or, mark spends part of the summer with blake, just like he always does)





	my lover’s the sunlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dhils](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/gifts).



> psa if u or someone u know is listed above kindly click away it’ll be better for everyone involved!!!
> 
> hey guys!! so it’s perri’s bday today and since she loves these two husbands so dearly, i’ve decided to try my hand at writing them. they’re actually so sweet and the weather just turned warm so waxing poetic about them in the summer was an absolute treat. perri has really converted me into a jets writer and i’m not even mad abt it(however it may mean some of the details r a little inaccurate and i apologize for that hah)
> 
> perri - i hope you have a wonderful bday and ily the most, thank u for putting up with all of my constant screaming abt this league and indulging my random ideas that i don’t have any excuse to be having but i do anyway. love u lots💞
> 
> to everyone else - i hope you enjoy! thanks so much for reading xoxo
> 
> title from take me to church - hozier

Offseason is filled with the tricky summer months in which Mark has to adjust to a schedule that doesn’t consist of bleary, early morning bag skates and weeks away from home and late nights stretched between the rink and the bar. It’s always rocky at first, ignoring the itch under his skin from watching another team’s offseason reaching farther than their own, feeling unproductive in his home in Ontario. He goes through his too-empty schedule feeling exhausted and restless, keeping in shape and restocking his fridge. However, slowly but surely, Mark melts into his easy routine, revelling in the way his hips no longer ache and the sun on the back of his neck he does stretches on his back porch.

 

The summer always smoothes out at the turn of July, when he makes the drive down to Minnesota. The trip itself is always a beautiful one, flying down the highway with the windows down, crossing the border under clear blue skies soundtracked to the soft country stations he finds as he drives. 

 

The last few summers, Mark’s visited Blake during the offseason. The first time, Mark had showed up to his house with his tail tucked between his legs coming off of a rough season, and Blake had let him stay. They had been dancing around each other all season, with nervous looks from across the locker room and hesitant hands under tables at restaurants across the country. That summer, Blake had finally cracked, and kissed Mark on the docks right near the edge of the lake. Mark jumped into the water right after, pulling Blake with him, still in their clothes. It’s a warm memory.

 

Mark cherishes his time with Blake in the summer, where they take their time and everything is gentle and relaxed. Things as mundane as going to the store become enjoyable, another opportunity for Mark to just be in the moment and relish the anonymity that grants him the courage to grab Blake’s hand as they wander down the aisles looking for quinoa. The nights are slow and calm and quiet compared to the buzzing of the city, fit with a tacky layer of humidity as they lay atop the cool sheets.

 

When Mark climbs out of his car after the long trip down, knees weak from the sitting and unbearably stiff as he escapes the stale air of the interior, it’s early in the afternoon and Blake is already halfway out of the front door. Mark smiles, opening the trunk to retrieve his single suitcase, but before he can get a grip on the handle, he’s scooped up by strong arms around his waist, feet lifting off of the ground. Blake is tucking his face into the crook of his neck as Mark returns the hug, hands pulling at the back of Blake’s shirt. The crisp, clean smell of Blake’s cologne wraps Mark up in a wave of familiarity, heart finally returning to the man it belongs to.

 

“You’re early.” Blake says into his neck, in lieu of greeting, and his voice is like a drip of sweet honey on the tip of Mark’s tongue. He could stay here for hours.

 

“Traffic was light,” he explains as he leans back partly to get a better look at him, eyes finally landing on a handsome tan face with inviting grey eyes. His pearly smile is endearingly crooked, and seeing it again makes Mark’s heart clutch. Mark traces the smile lines at the corners of his eyes with his thumb, scratching at the shortness of his beard. “I missed you.” Blake rolls his eyes, kissing Mark’s forehead before bullying him to the side to grab his suitcase. He waves away Mark’s protests, happily slamming the boot and leading the way up to the front door.

 

They make it into the foyer, getting the door shut behind them. Blake drops Mark’s bag at the bottom of the stairs, spinning on him and crowding into his space. He leans down in a telling posture, and Mark tilts his head up to make it easier for him. Their lips briefly connect, pressed together in a sweet, familiar kiss that Mark has been aching for the past few weeks, Blake’s hand resting right under his ribs.

 

“You look good.” Blake hums against his mouth and steps back, kicking his shoes off on the mat. Mark mirrors him, his feet cold against the tiled floor. “Missed that mug around here, felt like I was missin’ something.” He says as he wanders into the house, presumably the kitchen, where something delicious appears to be cooking, if Mark’s sense of smell in anything to go off of. He follows him, becoming reacquainted with the high ceilings and wide hallways breezily. The house smells like fresh linen and cut grass, the windows pushed open to let in the warm summer air.

 

Blake is standing at the counter when he enters, leaning up to rummage through the cupboards for presumably two plates. On the stove sits a cooling, thin-crusted pizza and Mark grins. There are perks to not being the cook between the two of them.

 

They eat and catch up in a comfortable rhythm, telling twisted tales of their offseason adventures like they hadn’t called each other every night that they were apart. Mark recounts the lunches he’d shared with Adam and Brandon and Blake tells him about the crazy game of golf he’d played with his dad and uncles. Mark revels in the amenity of their ankles tangles lazily together under the wide oak table. He sinks into the quiet hum of the home.

  
  
  


The days blur into a patchwork of peaceful, happy moments spent together in the July sun. They go out on the lake, predictably, early in the mornings and relax into the late afternoon, as the water turns orange in reflection of the setting sky. Mark will fish and pretend that he isn’t staring at Blake, stretched out on the deck of the boat with his shirt off and a pair of sunglasses hovered over his nose, the golden evening light dappling through the crowds to reflect off of his tan skin. Sometimes, Blake catches him, when he stretches luxuriously like a cat in a patch of sunlight and sits up to yawn. Mark always goes pink over the bridge of his nose, and Blake always rises to drape himself over his back and kisses the cut of his jaw, sun warmed skin pressing up against Mark and causing sweat to bead at the back of his neck.

 

On a breezy night, sometime in the middle of the week because Mark’s lost count, they dress nicely and go out to dinner with two of Blake’s friends. Mark lets himself watch Blake touch up his beard in the mirror over the sink, admiring the steady movements of his practiced hands as he grazes the clippers over his face. When he’s done, he frowns into the mirror and brushes two fingers over his forehead.

 

“I’m getting old, Scheif.” He remarks coolly, like he has no particular feeling towards the realization. Mark shrugs and stands up to slip his suit jacket over his arms, approaching until he’s close enough to slip a hand onto Blake’s firm shoulder. He looks at the two of them in the reflection as Blake does up his tie. They’re a bit of an odd looking couple, a little too similar, but Mark thinks they fit together. It’s an alarmingly maudlin thought.

 

“Yeah, but it’s hot.” He finally replies, taking one of Blake’s wrists in both of his hands to fasten his cufflinks. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

 

Mark likes the couple they go to dinner with, but he feels far too grown up as they take the seats across from this adult couple, closer to Blake’s age than Mark’s, and have a nice mature meal together while splitting a bottle of fancy wine. It feels like just yesterday he was eating Kraft dinner out of the microwave in a shared apartment with the other rookies on the team, thoughts dreamily drifting to his older winger. It’s all so alien, but enjoyable nonetheless.

 

The conversation has lulled to a pause as the silence is filled with the soft piano played over the speakers and the clink of utensils against plates, when suddenly Brian, Blake’s college roommate, clears his throat and sets his fork down next to his half eaten filet of salmon, perfectly browned and garnished. He takes his girlfriend- Kristen-‘s hand in his and it’s at this moment that Mark notices the shiny stone adorning her finger, and some of the vague comments made by the couple start to make a little more sense.

 

“We wanted to tell you, we’re recently engaged.” Brian informs them with a blissful smile, which Blake scrambles to swallow his bite of potatoes and congratulate them on. Mark smiles his kindest and nods his head, catching Kristen’s gentle brown eyes across the table that seem to carry a look of knowing. If he hadn’t known prior to the dinner, he would have guessed the two of them had been married for years. “We hope to see you at the wedding next August.” They go back to their meals in a comfortable silence, but Mark can’t seem to shake the stiffness rolling off of Blake’s shoulders.

  
  
  


They have plenty of slow afternoon sex, because they’re two consenting adults in a healthy, loving relationship with an empty house around them and a king size bed to themselves. These days, it’s gentle, with lots of kisses dripped onto patches of sensitive skin and their fingers intertwined. Blake presses him into the mattress and rolls his hips while Mark bites his tongue so he doesn’t end up moaning loud enough for the neighbors to hear them through the walls and across the spanning green lawns.

 

Blake rocks into him at a steady pace and moans incoherently into Mark’s neck, tells him how pretty he is, how good he feels. Mark just drags his nails down Blake’s back with a groan and takes him like a champ.

 

That night, Blake grills while Mark settles onto a lawn chair on the back porch to keep him company as he flips the burgers sizzling on the grate. He’s wearing a thin sweater that Mark bought him for Christmas last year, a nice navy blue wool that sits against his skin beautifully. For so long, Mark hadn’t allowed himself to indulge in a simple pleasure such as watching Blake just  _ exist, _ for fear of making him uncomfortable and respect of boundaries. Now that he’s allowed to look, he likes to take every opportunity he gets.

 

Mark wanders into the kitchen when the burgers are almost done to mix up a salad for the two of them, raiding Blake’s kitchen for supplies and a decent dressing. Luckily, he isn’t disappointed.

 

The sun is sinking into the horizon as they sit down to eat, and the world begins to settle around them. The wind slows as the pinks and yellows quell amongst the flat, wispy clouds above their heads. The porch looks out over the glittery lake rolling up to kiss the grassy bank, lapping at the peeling wooden dock. Leaves along the trees fenced along the yard rustle peacefully and birds hidden among the branches sing their farewell songs before they rest. Mark finishes his burger off and reaches across the corner of the table to hold Blake’s hand, just to feel his calloused palms under his fingers. Blake smiles and, even after all of these years, Mark’s heart flutters in his chest.

 

“I’m really glad you’re here.” He tells Mark earnestly, face open and honest. His eyes manage to persist a shine, even in the dim yellowed light. He says this every year, thrown into the quiet bits of peace they carve out each summer, so Mark isn’t sure why it’s causing such a tender tightening of his throat.

 

“I’m really glad I’m here, too.” He says back, voice thick with a feeling of-  _ something  _ affectionate. Blake squeezes his hand and looks back out onto the water, looking completely content in the moment. Something shifts, in the air between them, and it feels lighter, more certain.

 

The sun finishes setting as they’re done cleaning their plates, full and warm from a satisfying dinner and buzzing from the beer they had each had. Mark picks up both of their plates, stacking the utensils on the top one, and leads Blake back into the kitchen. He sets the dishes in the sink, and turns on the faucet. Blake steps up to help, but Mark waves him off. “I’ve got dish duty, you’re the cook in this relationship.” Blake laughs at him and goes in search of another beer, Mark assumes.

 

As he soaps up the dishes and gets to work on the top of the pile, Blake leans against the counter with a happy sigh, bracing himself on the lip of the smooth marble, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Mark takes note of the attractive flex of his forearms and continues to scrub at a plate. Blake watches Mark as he works, an unbearably fond look draped over his features, and Mark chuckles.

 

“What are you looking at? I’m not doing anything interesting.” He asks lightly, tone almost teasing, but Blake’s face is unchanging, if only intensified. He shrugs, reaching for the beer at his hip and observing over his drink. Mark’s face heats a little at the scrutiny.

 

“I’m just lookin’ at you, gorgeous.” He says simply, as though he isn’t shaking Mark’s entire world. “It’s hard not to.” Mark rolls his eyes, fully aware of the patchy crimson blooming across his cheeks. He hides it with the can in his hand, but the growing smile Blake has tucked away is easy to see. “It’s not like you keep your eyes to yourself either.” He points out as Mark sets another bowl on the dish rack to dry, shrugging in defeat. He’s not wrong.

 

Blake straightens up from his spot on the counter, approaching the sink lazily. He catches Mark’s soapy hands in his own as he reaches for another dish. He doesn’t seem to mind as they drip onto the tile, bubbles popping on the tips of their fingers. His face remains as gentle and as fond as before, but there’s a new brand of intent and sincerity behind his eyes. Mark thinks he might fall in love all over again.

 

“Are you gonna let me back to the dishes?” Mark jokes, looking down at the sink briefly before his eyes chase their way back to Blake’s pretty grey ones. Blake lifts one of Mark’s hands to his mouth and brushes his lips over the knuckles, tender and saccharine in a way that presses all of the air out of Mark’s lungs.

 

“Yeah, but give me a sec.” He gently chastises, almost as if to wag a finger, and takes a steady breath through his nose. Then, without hesitation, sinks down onto one knee in one swift, smooth motion. Mark swallows, eyes widening. He thinks his heart might stop. “Mark, I’ve loved you for a long time-“

 

“Blake, holy shit-“ He interrupts, too stunned to even catch the profanity slipping past his lips, and Blake stumbles over his words for a moment, eyes wide and mouth left hanging open in a gaping smile. He laughs, squeezes Mark’s hands, and continues.

 

“I’ve loved you for a long time. Nothing is a sure thing in this business, our rosters will change, and our team could too. I want you to know that no matter what happens, my commitment to you is final. I want to be with you for the rest of my life.” He pauses, to reach around for the pocket of his jeans, and produces a small box covered in a wine-colored velvet. Mark’s vision blurs through an embarrassing amount of tears collecting at the corners of his eyes, but he can see how beautiful the ring is, a simple silver band with two strands of diamond weaving over and under each other along the band. Mark’s breath catches. “So, marry me?” Mark lets out a blunt, ugly sob.

 

“Yes, get up here, asshole! Of course, always yes.” He babbles affirmatively, but Blake seems to get the idea. He rises from his place on the floor, bringing the box up to Mark’s face so he can show him the ring.

 

“It’s even engraved. I’m next level like that.” Blake points to the inside of the ring, and Mark squints through the tears beginning to stick to his lashes. Along the inside of the band, there are two numbers. Coordinates, Mark thinks, and he looks up at Blake with a look that he hopes asks the question that he’s too much of a mess to formulate with words. “They’re the coordinates that we got together at… and now, the place we got engaged too.” Mark barks a wet laugh, shaking his head as a tear streams down his cheek. Finally, Blake takes the ring from it’s black cushioning and slides it onto Mark’s left hand. As soon as it’s against his skin, he knocks the box from Blake’s hands and delivers a crushing kiss.

 

Blake’s arms come to steady his hips, fingers curled into his belt loops, as Mark’s arms fly around his neck. Their lips work together messily as Mark tries to press all of his rushing thoughts into Blake’s lips, lifting up onto his toes. They’re rocking back and forth, ever so gently, and Mark sighs happily against his mouth. Blake breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against Mark’s own, their noses bumping together. Mark looks down, shy, before letting his gaze meet Blake’s fullforce.

 

“I can’t believe you beat me to it, God, I’m in love with you.” Blake laughs, pulling Mark closer, hands sliding into his back pockets like they’re giddy teenagers again. Mark lets his hand drift up to brush through Blake’s cropped hair, twirling his fingers in the longer bits and stroking at the soft, shaved bits. “That was so frickin’ romantic!”

 

“Damn, I thought I’d get at least three curses out of you, oh well. Two is satisfying enough for me. I have more exciting things to be thinking about.” Blake feins disappointment, kissing the corner of his mouth, and Mark smiles. He tugs lightly at Blake’s hair, eyebrows lifting even higher.

 

“We’re getting married!” He cheers, leaning back in to kiss his  _ fiancé _ yet again, unable to grow tired of fit of his lips against his own. “Now come on, you might be able to get another couple swears out of me while you’re taking my clothes off.” Mark waggles his eyebrows and drags Blake off towards the stairs.

  
  
  


Later that evening, still golden in the afterglow and shimmering in the pale moonlight streaming in through the thin linen curtains, Blake takes a picture of Mark’s hand with the newly fitted ring decorating his finger, a happy, blushing face in the background. He sends it to the team’s group chat with a simple caption.

 

_ [image attached] _

_ blake wheeler: She said yes! _

 

It doesn’t take the team long to respond, despite the differing time zones, with messages filled with chirps and congratulations all the same. Adam even responds with a similar picture of Brandon wearing a pretzel ring with the same caption and several emojis that have come to mean that he’s being sarcastic. Mark doesn’t completely get it, but he laughs and tilts the phone to show Blake. Even later, they get a pic of Nikolaj doing the same thing with a gummy peach ring. It makes Mark’s heart buzz, that they can be so open with their team, and can share these moments of happiness with their family away from home.

 

Blake rests his chin on Mark’s shoulder, looking up at him dreamily, and his beard scratches at his bare skin. He looks away from the screen to press a light kiss to Blake’s forehead. He puts his phone on the nightstand and lets Blake curl protectively around him, as they let the hum of the cicadas through the screen windows lull them to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a tumblr! i’m currently a lil inactive rn but i hope to see u very soon over there at [starryandersen](starryandersen.tumblr.com)


End file.
